


Surrender

by SinOfPride



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dom/sub, Incest, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-11
Updated: 2012-02-11
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:27:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinOfPride/pseuds/SinOfPride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Spread your legs a little wider, Dean," Sam murmurs, rubbing a soothing circle on the spasming muscles beneath his fingers. "Show me where you want me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surrender

The wall is cold against his face, but he doesn't move away from it. He can feel Sam's gaze on him just waiting for the slip, for the disobedience he'll have to be punished for. Sam knows him as stubborn and obstinate, thinks he'll fight every step of the way, but Sam doesn't realize the depth of Dean's desire for him, the want that threatens to choke him. Sam doesn't realize that Dean wants to surrender. He stays still, legs spread, arms held up where Sam left them, bruises beginning to ache all across his body. The wall is cold, but it feels soothing against his naked skin, cooling the sweat off his forehead where he leans. 

Sam laughs, low and dirty from right behind him and Dean can't help but tense a little when a hand finally, finally comes back to touch him, resting on the small of his back like a brand. "Spread your legs a little wider, Dean," Sam murmurs, rubbing a soothing circle on the spasming muscles beneath his fingers. "Show me where you want me." 

Dean does, even though the position puts him off balance. He feels exposed and awkward, spread out like that for Sam to see, marks bitten on his skin, bruises on his wrists, but he holds the position, trying not to push back against Sam. Sam doesn't budge. Dean hangs his head a little, gasping when Sam rewards his obedience by biting a slick trail up his neck towards his ear, smile obvious in the press of his lips. The hand on his back moves lower, pats his ass condescendingly when Dean's body arches involuntarily towards the touch. 

"Very pretty. You're being so good, Dean." Sam coos, baiting, and a part of Dean hates him for rubbing his need back on his face. 

Dean endures it in silence, closes his eyes and just breathes, feeling his skin break into goosebumps when Sam's clothed form rubs against his naked one before stepping back again. Dean wants to turn around and beg. He wants to trap Sam in his arms, wants friction, touch, _something_. He does nothing. The silence stretches on between them, Dean's breathing loud on his own ears, and he's almost certain this is all Sam will give him tonight when a lubed finger is suddenly pressing inside him and a rough hand is pressing his face harder into the wall. He makes a noise that's not quite a gasp, not quite a whimper, choking on it when Sam buries that finger to the hilt, adding a second one and fucking him with both, stretching him efficiently while avoiding his prostate. 

"Now Dean," Sam whispers lowly but it's all Dean can hear, eyes screwed shut as he feels his muscles slowly adjusting to Sam's invasion. "You're gonna show me how much you want this. You'll get nothing other than my fingers, as many as you can take until you come for me, just from this. Then you're going to go to the bed, kneel there on all fours for me and wait for me to fuck you. Sound good?"

Dean moans, face squished uncomfortably against the plaster of the wall but he manages a nod that Sam seems to take as a sufficient answer. The fingers inside him curl, finding his prostrate and massaging lightly, forcing Dean to lean his whole weight forward when his legs fail him. Sam doesn't say anything, pressing even closer until Dean's trapped beneath his weight, Sam's denim covered erection rubbing Dean's skin raw. 

"So hot like this," Sam mumbles, sucking another mark beneath Dean's jaw, lips moving to his shoulder blades. "So needy, you'll just give me everything won't you?" 

Sam doesn't expect an answer and Dean is grateful. He barely even hears the words when Sam starts fucking him slowly, fingers setting a maddening rhythm, withdrawing and pressing back in too roughly, too quickly, perfectly. But it's not nearly enough to satisfy. Dean whines when they scissor inside, stretching him further but not adding another finger, just holding steady, teasing Dean's prostate in uneven strokes that make Dean see stars. 

"You have to tell me if you want more, Dean," Sam breathes next to his ear, voice low and hungry, so in control Dean can't hold back his groan. He feels his cheeks burn when the hand Sammy has buried in his hair pets him lightly as if soothing a pet while the fingers in him twist violently, making his knees buckle. His cock is hard and painful, has been for hours since Sam turned to him in the car with this _look_ in his eye and told him to find the nearest motel. But Sam hasn't touched him yet, won't because he said so, and now he wants Dean to ask and he _can't_ , Sam knows but-

"C'mon now," Sam coos softly, licking the shell of Dean's ear. "Just say you want another finger in. Tell me you want more." 

He does. He pushes back against the two fingers already in but it's not enough and Sam knows it, deliberately stretching him further, movements slow and teasing. Dean blinks back sweat and bites his lip before nodding, forcing his voice to work while Sam nuzzles against the base of his throat. 

"Yeah, Sammy," He mumbles, ashamed at how breathy he sounds, how needy, but Sam is smiling against his skin again, and Dean know he'll give in either way, knows Sam will get his way. "Shit, yeah okay? I want more. C'mon, add another finger, fuck me harder."

Sam hums in agreement, and immediately, Dean feels another finger breaching his opening, dry unlike the others, but he's stretched enough that the burn feels good, feels perfect, and he wants to touch his dick, so much his fingers twitch, but his hands stay where they are. Sam starts fucking him in earnest then, reaching for his prostate on every stroke and Dean's so close, so so close, if he could just touch his cock for just a second he'd-

"No Dean," Sam commands, and then hand that was on his hair is around his wrists, drawing them further up the wall, his fingers pressing against fresh bruises and making Dean's back arch uncomfortably against the hold. "That's right, stay right there. C'mon, I can feel you tightening around my fingers. You only need this Dean, don't you? I don't even have to touch your cock do I? Already leaking for me." 

And he is but he doesn't care, he just leans against the wall and lets Sam hold him up by the press of his body and his hold on his wrists, hangs limply while three fingers ease in and out of his body. He's so close he's almost sobbing, but not there, not yet, he can't quite make it, and he'd beg if his throat didn't feel so tight.

"You can come now." Sam says firmly, just when his fingers curl and twist again, so sudden Dean freezes in surprise then in ecstasy when his cock jerks and he's coming, white spots around his vision while Sam strokes him through the spasms, murmuring filth against his ear, satisfied smirk obvious even through the haze of Dean's orgasm. 

"Very good." Sam tells him softly, happily, and Dean would buy the calm tone if he couldn't feel how hard Sam is against his back. He turns around when Sam releases his wrists, unsurprised when his lips are caught in a kiss that steals all the breath from his lungs. His own lips are slack against Sam's, tongue too slow, but it doesn't matter because Sam just pushes in, devouring him, hands settling on Dean's hips. "You made a mess of the wall, though."

"Your fault," Dean mumbles against Sam's lips, smiling faintly. But when Sam looks back at him, his eyes are still dark and hungry, still intense and Dean knows this isn't over. 

"Go to the bed, Dean," Sam tells him softly, not smiling. He cups Dean's jaw with both hands, kissing him chastely on the lips once before stepping back. "It's my turn now."

Dean doesn’t argue. A part of him wants to, now that his own need is sated and by the look on Sam’s face he knows it. Maybe it’s the way Sam clenches his jaw or the glint in his eye but either way Dean looks away and walks to the bed, kneeling on it on all fours like he knows Sam wants him. This time it’s shame alone that colours his cheeks while Sam watches him, not touching, obviously enjoying making Dean uncomfortable again, making him aware of just what they’re doing. Then again, this is what it’s about, isn’t? Accepting it, giving in to the inevitability of _them_ , giving into _Sam_. 

“Dean,” Sam says and Dean almost jumps at the sound of his voice. He sounds amused, but he’s talking from the other side of the room and Dean wants to turn, wants to see what he’s doing but doesn’t move. There’s a rustling sound like clothes being peeled off and Dean tries to imagine what Sam looks like, undressing with no hurry while Dean waits for Sam to fuck him. “I can hear you thinking from over here.”

“Come closer then,” He says and regrets it, biting his lip. Sam doesn’t answer with words but the mattress is dipping behind Dean and he tenses, expecting Sam to be pissed off, to want to punish him again. 

“Like this?” Sam whispers, voice sultry on Dean’s ear and he can’t repress a shudder that makes Sam chuckle. A hand settles in one of Dean’s cheeks, exposing his hole and making Dean hang his head, face flushing even further while Sam hums like he’s inspecting something he wants to buy at a store. “I like you this way Dean, so pliant without all the bravado.” He murmurs. Dean has to bite his tongue not to answer while Sam spreads him open with both hands. “You’re shaking, you know?”

“Get on with it,” Dean blurts out, gasping when one of Sam’s hands slaps at his ass hard, the sting lingering. 

“Quiet,” Sam orders, leaning in behind him and Dean can feel him breathing against his opening. It makes him nervous. They’ve never done _this_ before and he’s uncomfortable, wants to move away but Sam hands are digging into his skin, holding him still. “Just for that, I won’t fuck you until you beg me to.” 

“Sam-”

The second blow hurts more and Dean shuts his mouth, jumping when a third one lands, and a fourth one that makes him squirm uneasily. 

“I said quiet,” Sam says firmly, and Dean nods, moaning helplessly when he feels Sam’s mouth on his ass, biting a mark to match the ones on his collarbone and neck. “Good. Now, hold still for me.” 

Dean tries. But when he feels Sam lick a trail around his entrance he bucks forward in surprise, whimpering when Sam bites another mark in retaliation. Then that tongue is circling him again and Dean is uncomfortable, feeling the slick muscle breaching him slowly. He’s already open from Sam’s fingers, so when Sam suddenly plunges his tongue in Dean feels it go deep, startling a half shout from his throat. Sam doesn’t give him time to adjust. His tongue starts fucking him at once, quick strokes that make Dean’s cock twitch and slowly rise again, aroused despite its earlier release. It’s odd, too small and flexible, but it feels incredible and Dean didn’t think he could get hard from something like this. Sam hums something against Dean’s hole, making him moan loudly, face falling to bury against the bed’s stained comforter. 

“Hmm, you taste good,” Sam murmurs, withdrawing and Dean can’t help the disappointed whine that escapes him. “Shh baby.” Sam soothes and Dean wants to kick him but he’s too grateful to manage when one of Sam’s hands travels to stroke his cock to full hardness, thumb circling the head in slow circles. “Hold yourself open for me, Dean.” He says and Dean doesn’t even think about it, hands reaching around his body to do it. 

Then Sam’s tongue is back inside him, a finger with it to stroke his prostate over and over again, and Dean doesn’t even feel embarrassed about it. The relentless attack on the oversensitive spot is making Dean shudder violently and coherent thought seems impossible and unnecessary. He pants and moans into the bed cover, feeling ridiculously grateful for the hand still stroking his cock, helping him along as he feels pleasure shooting through him. 

When Sam withdraws again it takes Dean a moment to even realize it’s stopped. He groans and opens his eyes, suddenly aware he’s still holding his cheeks apart, exposing him to Sam’s gaze and he lets go but Sam it’s there again, guiding his hands back to where they were. 

“Stay right there,” He says and Dean doesn’t know how Sam does it, how he can sound so calm when Dean feels like he’ll explode and he’s already come once not thirty minutes before. Of course, Sam came down Dean’s throat in the car, but he shouldn’t be so in control now, shouldn’t be so fucking smug. “Ask me, Dean.” He says and only then does Dean hear an edge to his voice that sounds like need, like desperation. “Dean. Ask me. Ask me to fuck you.” 

He doesn’t. Dean chokes on the words, lifting his head to look over his shoulder, but Sam hands on his shoulder blades hold him steady. His voice is raw in Dean’s ear, repeating his mantra, demanding Dean beg. And he’s so close already, has done so much that what is one more humiliation? 

“Sam,” He says and doesn’t recognize his voice, but if he saw himself on his knees, spreading himself open for his little brother he’d hardly recognize himself either. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t, this is Sammy and he wants this, wants it so bad. “Sammy please. Please, Sammy, just- Sam just fuck me already, please, just do it-”

And that’s enough. Suddenly Sam hands are gripping his hips too tight but that pain doesn’t register while Sam’s cock- hard and leaking against him- is breaching him in one stroke, pushing past his inner walls with ease. The fast penetration burns and Dean feels stretched to the brink, groaning loudly when Sam starts to move, obvious desperation shattering his cool façade. 

“That’s it, Dean, that’s it,” Sam is murmuring like a mantra and suddenly Dean’s upper torso is being lifted, Sam guiding him to sit against Sam’s chest, leaning back. One of Sam’s hands is on his stomach, petting him, the other around his dick and it feels incredible, raw and fast and dirty. The angle is intense and deep and Dean doesn’t even hear the murmurs from Sam anymore, broken words that sound like ‘perfect’ and ‘good’ and ‘love’ and ‘tight’, but it doesn’t matter because Sam is fucking into him steadily, relentless and it’s too much and exactly what Dean wanted since Sam turned to look at him in the car like he was thinking _mine_ and needed to prove it again, needed to make it real.

When Sam bites his ear he buckles up, caught between a gasp and a growl when Sam’s hand around his cock squeezes him hard, strokes hurrying until Dean’s world whites around the edges again. Then he’s soaring, Sam’s name a shout on his lips as he sags against the body behind him, energy deserting him while his orgasm washes over him in waves. Sam is still fucking into him, deep and fast and ragged until Dean feels him stiffen and Sam is coming too, buried to the hilt inside him. 

They collapse into the sweat soaked covers together after a second or two, panting, blinking back moisture from their eyes and trying to get their breath back. The silence between them stretches but Sam doesn’t pull away from Dean and Dean doesn’t fight the arm that worms its way around his waist, holding him close. Sleep is calling him, lulling him under even though he wants a shower badly. But he doesn’t have the energy. He’s almost asleep when Sam pulls out of him and Dean winces, feeling a kiss being pressed to his temple. 

“You okay?” Sam whispers, the huge hulking girl, and Dean growls something sleepily, hearing his brother chuckle against his hair. And it’s normal again, like they hadn’t fucked themselves raw, like Dean isn’t sore and tired and full of Sam’s release, like Sam isn’t _cuddling_ into him so intimately. Like Dean isn’t letting him. 

It’s normal because it has no reason not to be. Because it doesn’t matter. It’s _them_ and they’re together and they finally, finally understand each other. Dean doesn’t need the words. Maybe in time Sam won’t either. 

“Love you,” Sam murmurs and Dean is almost asleep again, but he mumbles it back like a slurred mess that Sammy somehow deciphers, his smile obvious when he says. “Thank you.” Against Dean’s skin and it’s not ‘thank you’ for fucking or for staying or for cuddling, it’s ‘thank you’ for giving in, for accepting _them_ and Dean would answer but he’s so tired and they have time. 

They have time.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at http://sin-of-pride.livejournal.com/76007.html


End file.
